Archive for October, 2011

One of the recurring themes of Garnet’s most recent visit was that I desperately wanted to have sex with her, and scheduling kept getting in the way. Well, scheduling and my fantastic failure to ask for it when I had the opportunity. We were going to on Sunday, but we stayed so late at the party we’d gone to on Saturday night that we slept over, then ended up going to brunch instead. It was a really delicious brunch. The rest of the day was super busy as well, with a photo shoot and a dinner party. By the time we got home, we were far too tired.

Monday. Roderick got up and went to work. I made Garnet her tea, and some breakfast, and brought it to her in bed. When she finished eating, we snuggled for a bit, and eventually she said “So, how do you want to get off? There are so many ways…” I made my usual silly excuses about being bad at making decisions, and she said that when I’d figured it out I could let her know. That prompted me to make a fast decision and say that I was always up for manual sex (which is true, it’s one of my favorite things). She got some gloves, and I hunted up some lube.

She kissed me hard, sliding her hands up under my nightgown and squeezed my breasts. We kissed and she ran her hands over my breasts and ribs, then she slipped my underwear off. She put on a glove and lubed up and slid her fingers inside me, pushing hard against my g-spot. I giggled at being able to see my abdomen move in response to her touch. Everything she was doing felt completely delicious.

And then, I did something I often do during sex. I started to compulsively dirty talk. Some people make a lot of noise during sex (and I often do that, too), but sometimes when I open my mouth instead of moans, all of the words come out. I told Garnet how good everything felt, and how I wanted to be filled up by her, to have all my little holes filled up completely. She took me at my word, and soon her whole hand was inside me, and I started having trouble with words.

Once her hand was inside, she pulled on the other glove (it was tricky, since her other hand was busy), and got some lube. ”You said you wanted to be filled up,” she smirked as her first finger worked its way into my ass. A second finger followed. ”Now you have my fist in your cunt and two fingers in your ass,” she said, grinning, “the next step will be my fist in your ass and two fingers in your cunt.”

I felt my eyes get huge at this, and I protested about how it would take a long time for me to get to that point. ”Don’t worry,” she said, “we’ll get there.”

She tried to fit a third finger in my ass, and it worked briefly, but I haven’t been doing much anal play lately and it started to hurt and we had to go back to two fingers, then stop with the anal. Still, her hand inside me felt amazing and intense and now I could really see her hand moving inside me by looking down at myself. It was ridiculously hot, and I asked for permission to touch my clit. ”Do you need a vibrator?” she asked, and I said yes…then realized the only vibe that was charged was in the other room. Garnet pulled her hand out of me and I went to go get it. When I came back, she slid her hand back into place almost instantly, then giggled, “Look how loose you are!”

After a few minutes with the vibe, I asked for permission to come. It felt like I was right on the edge, but of course once I had permission my body didn’t want to cooperate. I would get close, and then the sensation would get overwhelming and I couldn’t. And then I’d get close again, and it would all happen again. A few times I also felt like I might squirt, and I tried to bear down and see if it would happen, but a lot of the time I can’t squirt if there’s something inside me, and so I couldn’t quite manage that, either. It felt so amazing and so completely intense that there were actual tears in my eyes. I was vaguely aware, though I was getting to the point where all of my consciousness was entirely focused on simply feeling what Garnet was doing to me, that she had her head down, like she does when she gets really into sex and I know that she’s concentrating completely on feeling her way inside me. I kind of love it when we get to that point.

She was alternating pulling her hand mostly out and fingering my g-spot and sliding her hand back into me when my body finally let go. I wailed–seriously wailed, a completely involuntary sound that tore out of me as I started to come–and my body started to shake. ”That’s it,” Garnet purred as she kept pushing into me. I whimpered when I’d finished coming, and she asked if she’d broken me. I nodded, and she kept going, pushing her fingers into me and slapping my poor overwhelmed bits while I twitched and whimpered and she made fun of me for how wet I was.

When she’d stopped, she just looked at me for a bit, lying there exposed with my nightgown up around my waist. She said she was thinking about where she was going to pierce me. We talked for a bit about piercings and about sex, and eventually I realized I was lying in a bit of a puddle. I’m still a little confused about how that happened, as I don’t usually get wet enough that puddles are an issue.

So while I’m trying to write more about a greater range of things, I promise there will still be plenty of posts about fisting.

Not, like, the large scale, something-is-wrong-with-the-world difficult things, but the smaller, more personal ones. People know I will rant for ages about bad things out there in the world, and this blog proves that I can even sometimes acknowledge when I am part of the problem. But I hate, hate, HATE admitting that I am having personal difficulties.

People who follow me on twitter know that my tweets over the past few months have had a tendency to sometimes devolve into a stream of sadness and self-loathing. Which as soon as it’s over I shrug off and laugh about with some self-deprecating humour. And, of course, it took me basically my entire life to admit that maybe my depression has a chemical component.

But the worst for me is acknowledging that I’m having difficulty with my relationships. I don’t ever want anyone else to know when I’m not getting along with my significant other. I also do this weird thing where when someone breaks up with me I can’t deal with telling anyone. Like, for months.

I can’t stand the thought of anyone knowing that I am failing at having a relationship.

I also have a horror of people thinking I’m a huge drama-monger, which I am convinced is what people will think if I say out loud that a relationship that I am in is anything but awesomely perfect and perfectly awesome. No one wants to hear/read about my sad, sad issues and dirty laundry, right?

But having a relationship that looks perfect is actually not the same thing as having a perfect relationship.

I’m actually pretty sure that perfect relationships (by “perfect” I mean everything is all sunshine and smiles and no one ever has an issue) don’t exist. In fact, there were many people out there who thought that my first relationship, the one with the person I now refer to as Dr. Asshole, was perfect. Because I was working really hard to keep up appearances while things were actually deeply fucked up within. Keeping up appearances is kind of useless, actually, but I’m having a lot of difficulty not doing it, even though I have tried to stop before.

So what I’m saying, with all this obnoxiously navel-gazing waffling that is most of this post, is that Roderick and I are still having issues. And it’s really hard to put a relationship back together after the stuff that has happened between us and sometimes things are not okay. And that doesn’t mean that I’m a failure or that I don’t love him enough or that I’m trying to be a huge dramallama. It just means that these things, that are things that happen in real relationships in the real world, are really fucking difficult sometimes.

I’ve been doing some misdirection in my blogging. Things are amazing with Garnet, we get along fabulously and everything is going well, so I am far more likely to blog about things with her right now than I am about things with Roderick. With Roderick, there is fighting and trust issues and upset and a whole lot of false starts. And who would want to read about all that when they can read about fisting? But still…it’s a part of my life and I feel like I’ve been kind of doing myself a disservice by maybe not posting about it more.

So I’m going to try to post about the difficult stuff as well as the blissfully awesomely happy stuff more. I’m going to try to make this blog more about honesty and less about defensively shouting “LOOK HOW HAPPY I AM!” It’s not that the happy parts are a lie, it’s just that they’re only a part of the whole story. But really, I promise I’m not doing this to cause drama or beg for pity or tell everyone what a horrible person Roderick is. He’s not a horrible person, and we’ve both screwed up and made mistakes, and we’re working on putting things back together. It’s just not easy.

We went to an early Halloween party on Saturday, Roderick and Garnet and me. It was interesting, because it was the first time I’ve really been to a party in quite a while. It was also the first house party I’ve been to in a while that I didn’t really drink much at (I’m trying to drink less these days). Due to these factors, and to the part where there were lots of people there I didn’t really know very well or at all, I actually spent a significant portion of the evening literally sitting at Garnet’s feet, half-hiding under the kitchen table.

I am hugely socially awkward.

As the evening wore on, Garnet and I made occasional forays into the living room. At one point, Garnet was messing around with a friend of ours who was bobbing for apples, kneeling on his back and yelling at him. I said something about how I wished she would do that to me.

After a bit more hiding under the table, Roderick got me to actually ask Garnet to play with me a bit. I believe that the exact thing I asked was if she would tighten my corset. We ended up in the living room, where the lights were low, and she cinched in my corset as tight as it would go. I really enjoy being tightly corsetted, feeling all restrained and restricted by the steel around my waist, and this was the first time I’ve actually had the presence of mind to ask Garnet to tighten my corset for me. It was really exciting.

Then, Garnet led me by the hair to the bucket full of water on the floor where people had been bobbing for apples earlier. Most of the apples had not been retrieved from the bucket. You see, I really hate getting my face wet. Like, I can’t really swim mostly because I hate putting my face under water. I don’t even like getting water in my face in the shower…but I had seriously asked Garnet if she would push my face into a bucket of water.

She pulled me by the hair over to the bucket and pushed my face down. I think that was when I actually realized I had to put my face in the water, and I was going to actually get wet. She kept pushing me forward, and I struggled and whimpered but she wouldn’t let up. I almost panicked when my face hit the water–I pushed back, trying to keep from getting wet, but I couldn’t avoid it. After some back-and-forth like this, my teeth found an apple and I pulled it out of the water. I sat there dripping for a second, with make-up running all over my face. I was starting to cry, to which Garnet gleefully responded “I can’t even tell if you’re crying!” Then she pushed my face back into the water. I managed to get a hold of a second apple, after more crying and struggling and pushing back. Then there was a brief break, as we realized I’d lost an earring and that we were making a large puddle kind of near some electrical cords. We couldn’t find my earring, so things continued on top of a towel.

I pulled every apple out of the bucket. I started the second round just as terrified as the first, crying and trying to keep my face out of the water, but eventually I had to give in. I had to let Garnet push my face into the water. I took a deep breath and gave in, I worked an apple to the edge of the bucket and pulled it out. Then another, and a third. I had to surrender to make it work.

When there were no more apples in the bucket, Garnet pulled me into the middle of the living room floor. She said “Now that you’ve learned how to ask for what you want, tell me what you want me to do to you next.” I honestly couldn’t think of anything. My mind was blank, and for the life of me I could not come up with a single desire. I mumbled a bit, trying to sort out my scattered thoughts. Garnet shoved her fingers into my mouth and told me that she couldn’t hear me. She asked me again what I wanted. The phrases that rose to mind (“Whatever you want to do to me, Miss,” and similar) I knew would be dismissed as lazy cop-outs. So I actually said what I was thinking. ”I don’t know, Miss. I can’t think of anything else I want.”

She let go of my hair and pushed me to the floor. ”Well, ” she said, “I won’t waste any more of my time with you.” And she turned and walked away.

I collapsed forward onto my hands (I was already kneeling on the floor) and look around in shock and dismay, but Garnet was gone.

So omg it’s International Fisting Day! And International Fisting Day is actually a real thing, unlike when my high school friends and I tried to start International Handjob Day on the anniversary of the day my one friend first gave her bf a handy.

When Roderick and I got together, I started learning how much I like to be filled up–stretched and filled with fingers or toys or cock during sex. Roderick has gigantic hands, and while I initially couldn’t take more than two of his fingers, over time I started to learn to relax and stretch and take more, three fingers, four fingers, bigger toys, and, on one or two occasions, a fairly large vibrator and his cock at the same time. It was around then that Roderick started teasing me that he was going to find someone to fist me before 2010 was over.

Somewhere in here, I also read Britni’s review of the Vixen Creations’ Randy , a toy I proceeded to become terrified of and, eventually, fascinated by. I acquired my own Randy, and while it took a few tries, I was eventually able to have it inserted and keep it in place for a few seconds before coming really hard. Friends started telling me that if I liked that, I could probably take a fist without much trouble.

Enter Garnet.

Fisting is kind of one of the main things that brought Garnet and me together. We were friends for a while, though not especially close (apparently she thought I hated her, due largely to my being fantastically socially awkward) when she read my old blog, and I posted on FetLife that I was curious about being fisted. I may have, in fact, mentioned it several times. And since she had a fair amount of experience with it, Garnet offered to fist me.

There were several months of flirting, and writing filthy stories about each other, and lots and lots of sexting in between, but eventually, before the first MYTH party, Garnet came over. We had made plans to go to a short, introductory fisting workshop at Babeland the next day, and we both figured that the actual fisting with happen after the workshop. She knew what she was doing, (Garnet always says that when she writes her autobiography, it will be called Cupcakes and Fisting) but I felt clueless and nervous, despite trying to read up on how to be a good fistee in advance. But, well, things don’t always go the way you planned…

I forget how we started fooling around, but I remember with incredible clarity the way her gloved fingers felt inside me. She fingered me hard, and it felt amazing, and I, of course, started begging for more. She slid another finger inside me, and asked if I wanted more. I indicated that I did, and I felt myself stretch as she pushed her thumb into me. There was a little pain, as her hand twisted inside me, trying to work its way all the way in, but it hurt far less than I expected, far less than the first time I’d tried to take the Randy. I seriously hope I never forget her looking up at me and telling me that her whole hand was inside me. It was a moment of intense connection, her looking into my eyes and telling me I was, in fact, being fisted for the first time.

It felt amazing, so deliciously full, with every movement of her hand sending ripples of incredible sensation through me. She told me how tight and small I was (I have since become aware of the fact that I get wildly turned on when Garnet tells me how small I am, how tiny any part of my body is), how she could feel my muscles tightening around her hand, and I may have squeezed her hand on purpose then (I know that’s something I did a lot later). Then we both got kind of wrapped up in each other, and the sensation, and she pushed into me and ground against my leg, and eventually I asked for a vibrator and came, shaking and squeezing around her hand, with an intensity that even surprised me a little. Afterwords, feeling more than a little wrung out, I fell asleep for a few minutes with my head on her shoulder.

Above is a photo of the table of contents from a Catholic self-help book my mother bought me a year or two ago. I’ve never actually read it, but Roderick and I were joking around, wondering what advice it might have to offer about queer relationships and the hilarious conversation that could lead to with my mother. So I actually opened the book for the first time and flipped through the table of contents.

Now I have said many, many times that being raised Catholic probably has a lot to do with my particular kinks. But I seriously burst out laughing when I saw what chapter 11 in this book was about. Let’s take a closer look, shall we?

It’s October. There’s a chill and a crispness in the air, the leaves will begin to change soon, and it’s the time of year when a young girl’s fancies turn to…well…blood, pain, service, and general, over-the-top, masochistic gothy rhapsodizing.

I’ve always loved this time of year. My birthday is in October, Halloween has always been my favorite holiday, and so on and so forth. And in years past, I’ve done things like work in a costume store or at a haunted house to get my fill of spookyness. While commuting to these jobs, I listened to a special playlist I’d made, with Bauhaus and Nick Cave and Jill Tracy songs, and read really dark, gory novels about Elizabeth Bathory I picked up for cheap in used book stores. That dark, swoony, gothy pleasantness was actually probably the closest I ever got to subspace in those less self-aware times.

And now, today, I’m basically high off of a potent combination of gothiness and October and NRE and my overwhelming desire to please Garnet. I want to get dressed up and serve her tea and fancy sweets at a tea party picnic in a cemetery, I want to sit at her feet with one of these while she smokes clove cigarettes, I want to kiss and cuddle her on a chilly fall night while drinking hot spiced cider.

But most of all, I really want to bleed for her. I seriously don’t think I’ve ever in my life been so completely intoxicated by the thought of my own blood. I mean, considering that it took me years to figure out that I was, in fact, turned on by the sight of blood (like, that’s only something I’ve really gotten a handle on within the past year or so), I’m almost a little surprised by how badly I want it. I’m actually having seriously difficulty articulating the overwhelming emotions that come up for me as I write about this. I just…want it. So badly. I’m intoxicated by the very idea of hurting and bleeding for her.

But, of course, there are real life practicalities in my way. I have to, y’know, go to work and stuff like that, which irritatingly gets in the way of my desires to be locked in Garnet’s bedroom and bled and fucked for at least a week. So I’ll have to be content with blogging about it, and drawing creepy pictures, and re-reading the text she once sent me in which she called me “the prettiest vampire fledgling” for now.